


Too Much

by rizcriz



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: I AM NOT KIDDING this is JUST a panic attack, Like literally this is just him having a panic attack, Other, Panic Attacks, Quentin cracks, do not read if panic attacks trigger you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-26
Updated: 2019-02-26
Packaged: 2019-11-05 21:55:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17927078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rizcriz/pseuds/rizcriz
Summary: Quentin has a panic attack.





	Too Much

The glass shatters in slow motion.

Quentin feels the world shift, something cold and dark and familiar settling in his chest. Heavier and heavier the closer to the ground the glass gets. The further the pieces of glass spread. Time stops being linear, flashing forward and back—between the moment the glass slipped out of his hand, and the second it hits the ground. As the bourbon seeps into his pant legs, and the sound finally breaks through—it’s like something else snaps.

Something he’s been fighting to keep a hold on for months.

It cracks, and webs up through his heart, his soul—his chest, fast forward and aching. Blistering agony seeping through his veins at the speed of light. And he finally hears it—

The startling cataclysm of the base of the glass crashing into the floor—finally feels the warmth of the bourbon on his pants. Finally feels.

Feels _everything_.

He stares down at the floor, as all the other sound of the apartment finally starts seeping in. All too loud. All to present. All _too much._ The sound of the cars down below on the streets honking. The dripping water of the kitchen sink. The bits of glass someones stepping on. Something strange, broken; whimpering, rumbling all around him—

“Q?”

_Too much._

His eyes slide shut, as he tries to force a breath. But he can’t breathe.

Oh god.

His dads dead. Eliot’s fighting for his life. Alice betrayed them. Julia lost her powers. Penny’s dead.

Quentin—Quentin has nobody left.

“Q, are you okay?”

And it’s his own fault.

He reaches out blindly, clumsily, for the island counter, inhales sharp, tries to collect himself. Force it all back down, but he _can’t_. It’s flooding through the cracks in his heart, flushing through his veins, all the way through his hands and feet. To his head. His eyes burn with it, vision goes blurry with it. Oh god. Fingers and cheeks tingle, and he can’t breathe. Oh god, he can’t—He inhales sharply, shallow, and again, but nothing remains. Can’t hold a breath. Can’t keep it down.

Reaches with his free hand for the counter, uses both to slowly lead the way to the floor. Lets himself fall when he’s halfway there.

Something sharp stings his legs, digs into his knee. Can’t be bothered, can’t be bothered, it’s too much. He pulls his knees up to his chest, shaking his head, tries again to catch a breath, but can’t hold it. Wraps his arms around his legs.

Oh god.

This is all his fault.

This is _all_ his fault.

No fucking wonder Eliot wouldn’t choose him.

God his dad was probably relieved that—no, can’t think that thought. Can’t think that—the thoughts start seeping in. Like with the abyss key, but so much deeper, darker, meaner. He’s drowning in them; all the things he’s tried to keep down. Tried to ignore. They’re dancing across his skin and mind and heart, forcing him to acknowledge them. Forcing him to face how terrible he is. Because he is. He’s awful. Everything that’s happened has happened because of him. It’s all his fault. All the death, all the destruction, _Eliot_ , it’s all his fault.

“Q, you’re bleeding—“

He forces his eyes open, but he can’t see past the tears that make everything blurry; that turn the lights in the ceilings int six pronged stars. They seep into his cheeks, damp and warm and disgusting. He has no reason to cry.He’s the monster in the night. Something shakes him. He tries to think, tries to settle, but he still can’t breathe. Can’t get passed these quick inhales quick exhales. Nothing’s shaking him; he’s shaking, he realizes. He’s shaking. Sobbing.

Oh god.

The rumbling, broken sound echoing around the apartment. It’s _him_.

“Whoa. What the fuck’s wrong with him?”

“I don’t know! He was fine ten seconds ago!”

They sound like they’re underwater. Far away. Across the world. They should be. He wants to tell them to go far away. Leave him. Find a place where he can never find them. Where he can stop ruining their lives. Because that’s all he does. He ruins lives.

He sucks in his lower lip, tries to contain it, control it, make sense of it. But it just makes it hurt more. Tries to stop the noises, but they’re just muffled. He brings a hand up, holds it over his mouth. Can’t cry. No right to cry. No fucking right—

“Q—“

Someone blurry and brunette moves to kneel in front of him, holding a hand out. “Q, you need to breathe.”

He shakes his head. He can’t. He’s tried. He doesn’t deserve to breathe anyways. Doesn’t deserve to be alive when so many people have died. A lump forms in his throat, works it way up, a nd gets stuck behind his sealed lips. Until it forces its way out—a panicked, anguished wail that he can’t control. Broken and scattered and teetering off into nothing. His lungs feel like there’s a clamp on them, and he holds his mouth open, waits for the air to force its way in--

Nothing happens.

He stares helplessly at the brunette in front of him, feels the choking sounds rather than hears them. Feels a hand wrap around his. He closes his eyes.

Squeezes them tight.

Then.

There’s a searing pain—sending him crashing backwards into the island. His head bounces off the side of it, and he inhales. Finally inhales. It all comes rushing in. His nose aches, burns. Face is warm. Tingling. His body is _static_. Charged up and trembling.

“ _Kady_!”

“He’s breathing now, isn’t he?”

He inhales, slow, eases the air in, trembling, and opens his eyes. They burn. Can feel the tears already drying—drying on his eyelashes and the corners of his eyes. Along his smile lines. The snot still seeping from his nose. He reaches up, wipes it away, looks at his hand. Not snot. Blood. Blood. Blood?

He furrows his brow, can’t quite make sense of anything. Feels overloaded and numb or full all at once.

“Is he gonna—“

He sways.

“Oh shit, I think so.”

And everything goes dark. He feels the floor meet his shoulder, just as everything else finally, finally fades away.

**Author's Note:**

> I know it's bad but I had to get it out of my head so there ya have it


End file.
